Another new computer and a poem

The computer saga continues but one can't get two lemons in a row -- can one? I pray not. And I'm not going into the matter further. As noted a few days ago, my son-in-law challenged his wife [my daughter, Rachel] to write a poem a day during November. And she in turn pinged me. So, in fact, I have written something that purports to be a poem each day. All are in need of editing, which I hope to do as soon as I get Word installed on this machine. Meanwhile here is yesterday's poem because it's a subject I would write about if I hadn't turned the article in the Sunday N.Y. Times Week In Review section into a found poem -- the fist line begged to be part of a poem so I simply deleted the words that seemed extraneous. The subject deserves attention and thought, even by those on the lower side of, say, age fifty. I invite anyone who reads this and has thoughts about the subject [not the quality of the poem] to leave a comment.

FOUND POEM

So this, in the end, is what love is.
Justice O'Connor's husband
suffering fro Alzheimer's disease
has a romance with another woman...
the former justice is thrilled --
even visits the new couple
while they hold hands
on the porch swing.
It is a relief to see her husband
of fifty-five years so content ...
what cultre tells us about love
is generally young love,
rapture and betrayal, breathlessness and tears.
The O'Connor story opened a window
onto what might be called old love --
even when dementia steals so much else ...
Justice O'Connor's reaction revealed a poignancy
and richness to love in later years...
a rare model when people are living
and loving longer.